


and your shadow never seemed so tall

by mad_half_hour



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-12-07
Packaged: 2017-11-19 11:50:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/572952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_half_hour/pseuds/mad_half_hour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"What goes together better than cold and dark?"</i><br/> </p><p>When The Man in the Moon revealed the next Guardian no one expected Jack Frost, Pitch's oldest estranged friend and ally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a series of small, related ficlets based off of something that had been, from what I've gathered, mentioned in the concept art book: the creators had considered making Pitch and Jack brothers. I haven't actually read the source material myself so I could have things wrong, but I'm running with the idea anyway.
> 
> For the sake of this fic Jack is considerably older, and Pitch considerably younger. Both are roughly ~1000+ years old or so.

He comes into being quietly, cast across the bright, snow-kissed earth amidst the spindling, fingered shadows of a copse of trees. Sprawled before him is an endless blanket of white, behind him a thin and scraggly forest that thickens out slowly, transitions from barren branches to pine needles, until he can no longer tell one tree from another. He stares out at the novel world before him and the way he stands out, a long, solitary stripe of black amid a blinding white. Above him the moon is pale, retreating from the encroaching sun.                 

He looks at his hands - long, thin fingers, lightly greyed skin-- and knows they are Pitch's, because the moon tells him so.                                            

Pitch looks back out at the vast white land before him, wondering _why_ he would find himself in this place that is nothing like him. But when he looks back up to the moon to ask, it has already gone. 

Things come to him slowly then, pieces of his life before, every time he blinks an image in the darkness behind his eyelids. Small hands cradled firmly in his, one for each of his own. A head pressed into his chest to muffle a sob, his fingers threading through soft brown hair, as a fire out at sea drifts toward the horizon. Him warning a young boy –his brother— that if he tries to lie in wait the Tooth Fairy will never come for his teeth. A story told by the flickering light of the fire, hands manipulating shadows into the shapes of the characters. Flooded with terror beneath a tree, shouting for him to get down _right now_ before he falls, still chastising as he walked his brother and sister home, _what if you’d broken your neck, Jack? Don’t you ever think?_  

His sister in the door way, face drawn and lips tight, barely able to speak through her sobbing and the words didn’t connect but he let himself be pulled along, blind and stumbling because _Jack fell through the ice, I’m sorry I’m sorry, please hurry, we have to save him_ but there was nothing he could do, the ice unstable and the…the body nowhere in sight. If he dove in he’d get sick and what would his mother and sister do without him there to keep them safe? A solemn, quiet home. A tighter grip, a more watchful eye, never letting her out of his sight, never again, lookwhathappenedtoJack, he has to keep her safe or she’ll be through the ice and out of his life forever and then what? So he clung to all he had left, suffocating her until she slipped away little by little, until she left and— 

A packed ball of snow strikes him in the face, tearing him from his thoughts. 

“Look alive, Gloomy,” a voice says, coming from above his head. “If you drift off now you’ll be buried alive. Snow’s on the way.” 

“Excuse me,” he says, rising to his feet in a scrabbling of limbs he’ll definitely have to work on. He glares up at the branches above him. “I’d appreciate it if next time you decided to get my attention you wouldn’t pelt me with snow.” 

The branches above him shiver. It is the only warning he gets before a body falls on top of him, bowling him over and into the snow. 

“You can hear me?” the boy perched on top of him asks, pressing his face close in his excitement. His breath is frigid when it drifts across his face. “You can actually _hear_ me?” 

“Of course I can hear you,” Pitch spits, irritably attempting to bat the boy’s hands away from his shoulders. He succeeds, but they just move to grab the black fabric of his cloak instead. “You’re shouting into my face. Why shouldn’t I be able to hear you?” 

“I can even touch you!” the boy marvels, ignoring him completely in favor of tugging on his cloak instead, admiring his pale hands and the way his fingers curl around the black cloth.  “I can’t believe it, this is…!” 

“How wonderful for you,” Pitch deadpans, resisting the urge to push the boy off of him. It wouldn’t due to mistreat a child, even one as annoying and baffling as this one. Perhaps even especially; he’s lively enough to seem healthy, but he’s clearly delusional, with skin as cold as the snow Pitch is sitting on. If he’s sick he could accidentally injure him. “Now would you please get off of me and tell me where we are?” 

“Let go of you? No way.” If anything, his grip tightens on Pitch’s clothes. “You have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve been able to do this. It’s been… It’s been…” He shakes his head, his fur-lined hood whipping back to reveal messy, pure white hair. “A long… Never mind about specifics. Just too long, okay?” 

Pitch steels himself against the boy’s words, because he knows the yawning chasm that loneliness hollows into a person’s chest and this child, sick and dreaming, doesn’t. Not really. He pulls away from the boy, and his cloak melts from his clasping hands, as insubstantial as a shadow. 

“Rude,” the boy grumbles from his crouched position on the ground. His hands and feet are spread out in the snow for balance and completely bare. He glares up at Pitch balefully, blue eyes a bright, chilly blue beneath his oddly dark brows. It is the first time Pitch gets a good look at his face, and while the color of his eyes is different, the expression is achingly familiar. 

Before now, he never let himself wonder what he would feel if he got to see Jack again, alive and whole. It hurt, and it had seemed impossible then. Bothering seemed like an unnecessary torture. 

Now he knows: it feels a lot like falling. 

“Jack?” He takes a step toward the boy, taking in his appearance with ravenous desperation. The boy has the same face, the same lithe figure, thin legs and arms and chest from a growth spurt he hadn’t quite filled in from, had never had the chance to after he… 

The boy’s face lights up, a bright smile spreading across his face. He floats up, literally, on a sudden gust of wind, crowding back into him eagerly. 

“So you _do_ know me!” he gushes, leaning against a wooden staff as though he can’t hold himself up. “And you actually believe? Well, I mean of _course_ you believe, you can see me! Who are you? What made you decide I must be real? Was it the windows and leaves? I’ve put a lot of work into some of the frost detailing recently… Or, oh oh, the snow storm last week? I knew something unexpected—” 

Falling implies a landing, usually harsh. Pitch had not considered that. 

“Wait.” He reaches out and grabs Jack’s arm, ignores the chills that it sends skittering up his spine. “Jack. You…you don’t know who I am?” 

“No.” He shakes his head, even as he’s tilting his head back to get a better look at Pitch’s face. He had always been much taller than his younger siblings. He used to tease Jack about it endlessly. “I don’t think so. You must be from the village nearby though, right? Faces start to kind of blend together, you know? Especially the adults. They aren’t nearly as appreciative of my work.” 

“Your work?” he repeats aimlessly. His chest feels constricted, something tying in on itself tightly. He feels breathless, even though he’s drawing in air. “You mean the snow? The frost?” 

“Yeah,” Jack says slowly. He’s still smiling, but it’s more hesitant, less blinding. “I mean, I’m Jack Frost, right? Ushering in winter is sort of what I do.” 

“I, yes, of course.” 

Pitch bites the inside of his cheek to center himself. So Jack doesn’t remember. He could tell him, and maybe the reminder would wrestle his memories free somehow. He’d have his brother back and then they could go home, back to their sister and mother… Except they can’t, because as far as everyone is aware they are dead. The dead don’t come back to life. Even resurrection apparently comes with a catch, the two of them brought back, but no longer themselves.  Not really. 

No. Better to not tell Jack anything for now, not until he gets a better idea of how he’d react. Losing Jack to death once was painful enough. Pitch doesn’t think he could deal with rejection on top of that right now. 

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m afraid I’m not one of your believers.” 

“What? No way, you can see me! I don’t pass right through you! That doesn’t happen with normal people, but I know that if someone believes in me that changes.” 

“I’m not,” Pitch insists, resting a hand on his shoulder when Jack moves to pull away. “I’m like you.” 

“Like me? You mean, immortal? A legend?” 

“Precisely so.” 

Jack sighs, but when Pitch glances down at him, he’s still smiling, diminished but no less kind. “Well, you aren’t a believer…but company is company.” When he reaches out, Pitch shakes his hand. If asked, he’ll claim his hand is shaking from the cold of Jack’s grip. “So, who are you?” 

Carefully, he swallows down on his _real_ name, swallows down the claim of “your brother” that claws its way up his throat. No. That name is past, the man it belonged to dead. The moon has told him so. 

“Pitch Black,” he says instead.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay, when I hoped for someone other than the Groundhog I hadn’t been aware Jack Frost was even an option.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of the kind responses and kudos <3
> 
> In this chapter we skip ahead to what would be near the beginning of the movie, when the next Guardian of Childhood is revealed...

“…Jack Frost?”

One of Tooth’s miniature fairies utters a high-pitched squeak and drops to the ground with a shudder. She is followed closely by her fellows.

“Okay, when I hoped for someone other than the Groundhog I hadn’t been aware Jack Frost was _even an option_ ,” Bunnymund says, voice steadily climbing in volume. He whirls to face the moon, glaring at it as though he could persuade it to change its mind through sheer will alone. “Really, Manny? _Jack Frost_?” He jabs his paw at the ghost-like image still suspended in the crystal, and the gesture is nothing short of vicious. “You’ve gotta be pulling our legs, right mate?”

The moon glows placidly back at him, silent and serene.

“Bunny, show some respect.” Tooth places a hand on his shoulder, grip soft, but in her eyes is a steely edge of admonishment. “Whatever Pitch has planned, he’s clearly made a threat to children everywhere, and he’s confident enough to mock one of us in our own headquarters. You know The Man in the Moon wouldn’t make a joke of something so serious. If he’s suggesting we initiate Jack Frost into the Guardians he means it. …Right?”

Sandy nods in agreement.

“No,” Bunnymund denies, shaking off Tooth’s hand and taking a large hop backward, distancing herself from her attempts to sooth him. “No, no, no, no. There is _nothing_ about Jack Frost that makes me think Guardian. He’s a reckless troublemaker, and oh yeah, in case any of you forgot, Pitch’s right hand man.”

North strokes his beard thoughtfully, eyes lingering on the fading image of the gangly teen. “Bunny, if Man in Moon thinks Jack is Guardian material he must have good reason to think so. Tooth is right—he means it. You must have faith that he knows best.”

“Faith? Why have faith when I have common sense? Was I the only one paying attention to the kid frolicking after Pitch like a bloody _puppy_ for a couple hundred years?” At his haunches Bunnymund’s paws are clenched so tightly they twitch with the tension of his grip. “The kid romped his jolly way after the tails of Pitch’s shadows and brought _misery_ wherever he went just to make Pitch’s job easier. He’s nothing but another creep stuck in the Dark Ages. Even if he did agree to go against Pitch and help us, which is already un-bloody-likely, how can we expect him to protect children and bring them joy when the kindest thing he’s probably ever done for one is give them a cold instead of frostbite?”

An image of Jack and Pitch weaves itself above Sandy’s head. Abruptly, Pitch turns his back to Jack and glides away, dissolving into non-existence. Jack too is swept away, the sand composing him shifting into the form of a thick sheet of blustering snowflakes. Slowly the sand-blizzard above his head dies out, until a gentle snow is left in its place.

“Yes! Exactly! Well said, Sandy,” North praises with hearty exuberance, a bright boom in the tense atmosphere. “Jack has not caused problems like you have said for much, much time. Not since he and Pitch went their separate ways. They have not been seen together for over three hundred years.”

“That’s still almost several centuries of friendship and a whole lot of blood on his hands,” Bunnymund says bitterly, scowling at the crystal as it is lowered back into the floor. “Even if he has changed his ways, he still causes trouble. I know he’s iced over plenty of my egg hunts. And didn’t he once make a blizzard on Christmas Eve so big you had to enchant a reindeer’s nose to glow just to see a few feet in front of you?” North laughs uproariously at the reminder, but Bunny presses on determinedly, raising his voice above him, “That could have ruined Christmas, and then where would you have been? The kids would’a stopped believing in you, and all of their wonder would have gone with it! Is that something a neutral party does? I don’t think so.”

“I really don’t think Jack doing those things is connected to Pitch, Bunny,” Tooth says, cradling her shivering fairies to her. “You weren’t around back then, but he caused mischief before Pitch even came into being. Besides, when they teamed up they were practically inseparable. I don’t think Jack would be isolating himself like he does if he and Pitch were back on good terms.”

“That doesn’t mean there isn’t a part of him that’s still loyal,” Bunnymund protests, but the prior intensity of his voice has faded to dull contrariness.

“Then we will change his mind,” North says swiftly, sensing weakness and pressing his advantage, all contrasting notes to Bunnymund’s caution, energy and optimism and limitless confidence. “Is not every day one is asked to become _Guardian_ , yes? I am sure that we can persuade him. If Man in Moon chose Jack he cannot be without reason.”

“Almost seven hundred years of camaraderie isn’t something to sneeze at,” Bunnymund cautions, resisting the urge to pull his ears off to avoid hearing any more of North’s foolishly blind faith. “It could come back to bite our tails.”

Sandy’s eyebrows and a glittering exclamation point shoot up simultaneously, his eyes wide with surprise. A question mark quickly follows suit.

Bunnymund lets out a tired sigh, rubbing his temples. “Yeah, yeah, I’m giving my go ahead. If you wanna go on a wild chase tracking down that frosty little hermit and try to sway him to our side, fine. I’m in. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it, or even think it’s a good idea. I just don’t wanna waste any more energy arguing with you lot of hardheads when I could be saving it for our confrontation with _him_.”

Whether he means Pitch or Jack remains unsaid.

North laughs triumphantly, long, loud and rich from somewhere deep in his belly. “Very good! I knew you would not be able to hold out long.” He thumps Bunnymund on the back good-naturedly. As per usual he also forgets just how much force he tends to pack, and Bunnymund nearly finds himself flying face-first into the floor.  Above them golden dream sand showers from the ceiling as bright, glimmering bits of confetti.

“Um.” At Tooth’s timid interruption the three stop their antics, Sandy’s hands lowering to his sides and North dropping the fist that he’s caught when Bunnymund had shaken it in his face not moments before. “Not to be a downer boys, but does anyone even know how we could find him?”

Abruptly, the faux-confetti putters out.                                    

oOo

“Crikey, it’s freezing,” Bunnymund exclaims, rubbing his paws together furiously in a desperate attempt to generate heat. He assumes they must be getting close to the devilish little heat-sucker, because it does virtually nothing.

It certainly looks like somewhere a herald of winter would chose to live. Well, what little of it Bunnymund can make out through the thick gusts of snow bombarding him from every direction, anyway.

Not even a minute after the group had exited the portal (North set the designation for “Jack Frost’s”. Today is a day of walking enthusiastically forward while blindfolded, fingers lodged firmly up their ears, apparently.) and North’s sleigh took off had it begun to snow. First it had only been small, delicate little flakes of the stuff. But as they began to press onward a fierce wind began to pick up, carrying with it a razor sharp chill and the thick, heavy beginnings of what’s become a veritable white out.

The portal had taken them, as far as any could tell, to a remote location somewhere in the arctic tundra, far beyond the area’s tree line. Even before the storm had picked up (a generous welcome from Jack himself, no doubt) it had been dry and frigid, the wind testy and prone to blustering about with erratic, carefree recklessness.  North had had to send for a Yeti to deliver everyone except Sandy –who, composed entirely of sand, is unaffected by even the most extreme temperatures— thick winter gear and goggles.

Now, with the blizzard descended upon them in earnest, visibility reduced to the point Bunnymund can barely see his paw in front of his face and wind so tempestuous they’ve nearly been blown out of the sky twice, he finds himself fervently cursing the names of everyone he can think of.

Those in his general vicinity for convincing him to come.

 The Man in the Moon for picking someone like Jack at all and making this ridiculous quest possible in the first place.

Himself for giving up so easily.

And Jack and Pitch for existing.

“North!” Bunnymund can just barely manage to make out Tooth’s voice through the heavy fabric of the hood covering his ears and the roar of the wind. When he fails to respond she shouts more loudly still, pulling away the scarf covering her face from nose to chin with a wince. “North! You need to land this sleigh, now! If we stay airborne for much longer we’re going to crash!”

“Crash?” North laughs uproariously, as though she had spoken of something impossible and absurd. “Nonsense! I am experienced flyer. You have no need to worry!”

In every decibel of North’s voice is a broad grin, fit to bursting with excitement. Of course the bloody thrill seeker would enjoy a harrowing, life-risking flight hundreds of feet above very, very solid ground. What’s not fun about balancing on the knife’s edge between insanity and foolishness?

“No offense North but so am I, and I think we need to land!”

A particularly strong gust of wind batters into the side of the sleigh, rocking it and its occupants violently. Bunnymund swallows thickly so he won’t do something completely embarrassing, like vomit. “I second Tooth’s suggestion! Land sounds bloody great right about now.”

“Relax, I have everything under control,” North assures them, and he sounds so unerringly calm Bunnymund is positive he must be imagining everything right now. Maybe this whole Pitch thing has been one giant, terrible nightmare.  He’s asleep in his Warren right now, not trapped on a sleigh a thousand feet in the air in the middle of a blizzard, with a crazy man piloting them to their death because he thinks it’s _fun_. “Besides, I am sure we are close.”

Yes, he will definitely wake up now, and remember to never eat carrots before going to bed.

“How can you be so sure?” Tooth asks dubiously.

Any second now he’ll open his eyes to blue skies and fluffy white clouds, his fur comfortably warm from hours spent dozing in the sun.

“I can feel it, in my—”

Something inside of Bunnymund snaps. “If you say _belly_ , I swear I’m gonna—” The sleigh shudders violently before jolting upward with a sharp twist. “Oh God I don’t wanna die!” Bunnymund exclaims, claws scrabbling to catch a hold on the sleek wood of the sleigh’s edge as it begins to tip sideways, nearly throwing everyone aboard out into a free-fall. 

With an almighty wrenching of the reigns, North manages to right the sleigh. Thankfully, Bunnymund’s heart is lodged so far up his throat his stomach contents would have no way of escaping him. The world forever being in North’s favor he is also so shaky he can barely lift his arm to clutch at his still-beating heart, let alone take North and throw him overboard personally.

“Can we land now?” Tooth asks after several tense moments of each of them silently composing themselves. At least, that’s what Bunnymund assumes. For all any of them can tell Sandy could have fallen overboard miles back.

“Alright, alright.” North’s words are a heaving sigh, as though their request for safety is an imposition. “If it will make you all feel better, I will land.”

Whatever Tooth had been about to say comes out a terrified yelp as, without any warning, the sleigh’s reigns are wrenched from North’s hands. Cut off from direction the reindeer panic and buck, rearing up and kicking with their great hooves before swerving off, heading aimlessly downward.  Without a tightly regulating hand to guide them the ride is comparable to that of a toy boat’s after being tossed in the ocean, bobbing up and down, tossed harshly from side to side.

“Hold on!” North calls loudly, and Bunnymund’s throat is shut so tightly by fear he can’t even manage to squeak out a caustic “To what?” in reply.

Through the white sheet smothering his field of vision Bunny thinks he might see glimmers of golden sand arcing around the entirety of the sleigh. Unfortunately, they are nothing but a pawn in the wind’s games by now, moved where it whims them to be, and it blasts away any solid lines that the dream sand attempt to form. Meanwhile, the reindeer continue to build up speed, attempting to reach the ground as quickly as possible in their fright.

Without anything to hold them in and gravity being what it is, it is no surprise that one of them would eventually be thrown out from the sheer combined force of physics and Murphy’s Law. With the type of day he’s been having so far, it seems inevitable that that person be Bunnymund.

He drops through the air, twisted and spun about like a kite in a hurricane. The breath is punched right out of him. Deliriously he thinks that it seems like a major injustice that, in what may be his last moments before he meets a grisly end splattered across perpetually frozen ground, he can’t even scream like a little girl.

Spun dizzy and short on breath, the world finally, finally begins to grey around the edges, black crawling steadily behind it. Anything other than this cursed, infuriating white.

Distantly he thinks he might hear someone shouting his name. Then there are hands on his back, small but as strong and firm as steel, and he has seconds to recall that oh yeah, Toothiana can fly, can’t she? before losing consciousness.

OoO

As his ears stop ringing, the first thing Bunnymund notices is the silence. The second thing he notices is the slap across his face.

“Ow!” The pain radiates through his cheek to suffuse through his whole body, which feels like one giant, overstretched bruise. “What was that for?”

“I had to wake you up somehow,” Tooth explains without sympathy, but the hug she gives him afterward belies her tone significantly. Despite the aches that seem to seep into his very bones, Bunnymund manages to return the gesture, if somewhat lackadaisically. He feels her breath shudder over her whiskers, the only sign of her lingering panic, and finds the ability to tighten his hold.

Tooth’s distress makes part of him want to keep his eyes closed forever –he is no good at comforting people, and definitely no good at handling his friends when he sees them upset— but the memory of his last moments of consciousness force them open anyway. A bright, solid flash of light consumes his vision almost immediately, and it feels a lot like being stabbed in the eyes. Biting back the pain and ignoring the steady sound of blood rushing through his head like the marching feet of a battalion of soldiers, Bunnymund releases Tooth immediately, hands flying to shield his stinging eyes. His fur mops up the instinctive tears the light coaxes out of him.

“Is everyone okay?” Bunnymund asks, pseudo-calm. When he had fallen out of the sleigh North had still not managed to regain the reigns, and the sleigh was still on a swift crash course to the ground, but it wouldn’t do to let his worry consume him. Not when they could be in the middle of enemy territory.

Neither, he thinks with a wince, would blindness. Gingerly, he begins to lower his paws back to the ground, exposing his eyes to open air in steady increments.

“No worries, we are both fine,” comes North’s voice from behind him. Tooth gasps in delight, her face brightening noticeably at the appearance of their separated teammates. “Right Sandy?”

Bunny turns in time to catch Sandy grin and nod, thumbs up at either side of his upturned lips.

“Oh, thank goodness the both of you are okay.” Toothiana flutters into the air and hugs the both of them in turn. Still clutching North’s arm with both of her own she admits, “I was terrified when I lost sight of the both of you. If Bunny hadn’t been unconscious I probably would have been back in the storm.”

“We are fine, “ North repeats, his smile and eyes, if possible, even more jolly than the stories parents tell their children describe. “I managed to grab the reigns and steer us to safety right on time. Our landing was much smoother than yours, I’m sure.”

Behind his back, an image of the sleigh slamming forcefully into the ground is created above Sandy’s head. The sand-sleigh jolts up and over, rolling onto its side, and North and Sandy spill out and onto the snow.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Toothiana says, voice tense as she struggles to smother her laughter.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure the whole tale is a riveting adventure, but we’ve got bigger things to worry about right now. For starters, figuring out where we crash landed.”

North hums in interest, surveying the territory that had taken weathering a storm of epic proportions to enter. Whatever he sees has him crowing in delight.

“Aha, I knew my snow globe wouldn’t fail us!” He pats his pocket with a large, gloved hand and begins making his way forward, urging everyone to follow him. “Quickly, if I am right we only have until the sun begins to set.”

“Right about what?” Tooth asks, head cocked to the side.  Despite her confusion she begins to follow North, hovering several inches above the rest of the group. The tensing of her stance suggests the choice in position isn’t just a matter of comfort.

“The local magic of the area, of course.”

“Where are you even taking us?” Bunnymund scowls beneath the shade of his hood, hopping miserably after them. It would only be proper for the best fighter of the group to take the rear, after all. “I don’t see anything except snow.”

Lots and lots of snow, in all directions. It crunches beneath their feet, more like clumped granules of ice than the soft, fat flakes that had bombarded their flight here, and glistens a soft, golden yellow when the rays of the setting sun strikes it, mirroring the sunset visible from a breath-taking three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. Even the air is oddly still here.

After the sort of welcoming they got, the peace is more than a little suspicious.

A golden arrow shoots forward from behind him (he stops himself from jumping out of his skin by sheer force of will; he’d forgotten Sandy had been behind him), pointing at something in the distance.

Bunnymund follows the arrow with his eyes. When he squints he can just barely perceive a thin line of pale rose, dusted with tinges of gold. It stretches in sharp, jagged lines from the horizon and into the sky, where it slowly fades into obscurity.

The longer they walk forward the more visible this line and others like it become. When the colors begin to darken, taking on hues of purple and even blue, Bunnymund abruptly realizes they are actually the light of the sun and image of the sky refracting themselves through giant structures of carved ice. They loom over the surrounding land, which is flat and void of even the most scraggly plant life or low-to-the-ground rock formations. 

Despite their size they do not make any shadows. Instead their own luminosity shines outward, dispersing the encroaching darkness; they are solitary beacons beckoning all forward, out of the range of the oncoming night.

It is a beautiful sight, and the exact opposite of what Bunnymund imagined Jack Frost’s home would look like (namely, a creepy dark cave carved into the edge of a mountain).

“See Bunny,” Tooth gestures to the pillars of iridescent ice now jutting out of the ground like a path, illuminating their way forward, “Jack can’t be in contact with Pitch if he lives in a place like this. It’s too bright for someone like him to tolerate. He’d be dispersed in a flash.”

“Maybe he set this up once we made it past his snow storm,” Bunnymund protests, but the argument sounds weak even to his ears. Something as vast and intricate as all of this would require a significant amount of time to forge. Even for someone as old and experienced as Jack Frost, it would likely take him at least several months of concentrated effort.

From the unimpressed look Sandy shoots him, he isn’t the only one to think so.

“That is very unlikely,” North disagrees, running his hand along a frozen pillar as they pass it by. The lavender light it gives off casts the white of his beard in shades of pale purple and blue. “This place is full of natural magical potential. It would have taken years to find and manipulate as he has done, and I doubt he would waste such a rarity on something to use against us once. It is not every day someone finds a way to solidify an optical illusion.”

“Are you trying to tell me that that” he gestures expansively at the enormous mass of ice, still several hundred meters ahead of them, “isn’t real? Because I gotta say mate, it looks pretty real to me.”

“No, you are right to say it is real,” North agrees, eyeing the twisted spires that seem to touch the clouds themselves with admiration. He has always loved a good show of magic. “Jack has built the same structure that people would see as a mirage, exactly where and how it would be seen by the naked eye from a distance. In this way he has made reality out of illusion. Very clever.”

“That’s _amazing_ ,” Tooth begins, and the wonder in her eyes suggests that she means that with utmost sincerity (and if Bunnymund is being honest with himself, he admits to feeling a grudging respect for Jack’s abilities as well), “but…what’s so special about it? I mean, other than the structure itself. What does it mean to do something like that?”

“It means he has made something that it both real and fake,” North explains. “It is solid, so it is here. But the mirage that he built it over is not—and that mirage is composed of magic, magic that he has superimposed something over. By doing this, his home has been imbibed with the mirage’s properties.”

“…That was a load of gibberish, mate.”

“Perhaps it is best if you see for self,” North muses, ushering them along by quickening his pace. “Come, the sun is almost setting and we must be within its gates when it does.”

“No, but really,” Bunnymund pants out between breaths, dashing for the gates. The sun has almost completely set, even the reflective ice around them dimming to a dark, velvety sapphire. “What’s gonna happen?”

Somewhere in the distance behind them, something collapses to the ground. The force of the fall is enough to make the frozen earth beneath their feet shudder.

His head whips back to stare behind them, but can make out only darkness in the distance. “What was that?”

“Tell me, Bunny. What is a mirage?”

Bunnymund’s eyes widen. “An optical illusion of light. Which means without light…”

“…there is no mirage,” Tooth breathes out. “So that crash? Was it the first pillars?”

“Yes,” North says brusquely, skidding to a rapid stop in front of the massive doors of Jack’s domain. He begins to push against it, but the slick quality of the snow beneath his feet leaves him with little purchase. “Help me open this. If we do not enter before the sun sets, it will disappear without us and we will have to wait for almost twenty-four hours before it is here again. It moves with the sun.”

Together, the four of them manage to push open the door just enough to slide inside. Through the crack of the doorway they witness the last pillars shatter, hunks of ice raining to the ground. The sun sinks below the horizon. For one brief moment, all of the ice around them is ink black and dappled with the glittering light of millions upon millions of stars. It is as though they are standing on the edge of space, given solidity and distinct, if unearthly, form.

Afterward everything is gone.

There is the sensation of an elastic stretch, the world pulled taut, stiff and unwilling to yield. Then it snaps. Reality rends itself in two, cleaving illusion and all within its domain, themselves included, from the realm of existence.

Until the light of morning they have become as imaginary as all but children perceive them to be.

The world that greets them is much like the one they had left behind. The snow is still a pure, eye-watering shade of bright white, blanketing every stretch of land in sight. The sky is awash with sunrise, what few clouds remaining suspended in the sky wispy and light.  Only the ice of Jack’s hideaway is different. It has lost its reflective transparency for opaqueness, baring a strong resemblance to frosted glass.  

Specifically they appear to be standing in the threshold of a moderately sized wintry courtyard. Places to sit are situated about the place, mostly near the walls encircling the domain and closer to the hideaway proper. Trees crafted from ice are similarly scattered about, a mocking imitation of patches of flowers and shrubbery found here and there with no proper thought of geographical relations or what would naturally be found growing together.  In the center of the courtyard, rising to the heights of the walls, is a tall, formless sheet of jagged ice, black sand encased within. It could almost resemble a wave at the peak of its arc, right before it begins to crest, if not for its sharp, unforgiving lines.

It is here that they find Jack Frost lying in wait, perched upon one of the statue’s lower protrusions.

“Well whadaya know. You made it.” He takes in the placement of the sun, just beginning to peak over the horizon of this inverted world, and laughs. “And right on the nick of time, too. I should have figured, considering how famous you all are.”

Beneath his jacket Bunnymund feels his fur bristle. “You didn’t exactly make the trip easy, what with the blizzard you sent to welcome us.”

“Oh, please. I didn’t make that just for you,” Jack says, a smirk playing across his pale lips. “Sorry to disappoint, but it’s a ward I set up to drive away anyone who triggers it and isn’t meant to be here. Usually people can infer from the gale-force winds, negative wind chill and complete restriction on visibility that they aren’t wanted. I don’t take visitors.”

Rising to his feet, Jack takes a casual step off of the ice formation and is caught up by the wind, floating down to stand before them in its gentle grasp. Just looking at him, frosted-dusted blue hoodie, tight khaki capris, and literally nothing else –not even a bloody pair of shoes— instantly makes Bunnymund feel that much colder. The uppity little show off.

“So, what brings you this far north?” Jack leans against a wooden staff ending in a warped, angular Shepard’s hook, cheek pressed into the aged wood. “Come to admire the scenery?”

It’s strange, being talked down to by someone who, in all appearances, looks to be little more than a gangly teen that hasn’t grown into his own body yet. By virtue of his nature Bunnymund’s never really felt the urge to punch a kid before.

There’s a first time for everything, he supposes.

“We’ve come to ask for your help,” North declares without a speck of subtlety.

At North’s statement Bunnymund pinches the bridge of his nose, biting back the reprimand on his tongue. Of all the stupid ways to kick things off, letting Jack know that they need him (and thus making him aware that he has a position of power over them) may just be at the top of the list. Fantastic.

“The scenery is beautiful though,” Toothiana chimes in blithely seconds later, smiling. “It’s very impressive.”

Aaand flattery too. If he wasn’t so close to tears of frustration Bunnymund would probably be laughing at the absurdity of it all. Maybe next Sandy will offer to tie the four of them up, just so Jack knows they’re trustworthy, of course.

The hang-ups preventing Bunnymund from finding real humor in the situation are clearly not shared by Jack, who doubles over in his ensuing fit of laughter. If not for his staff he probably would have fallen onto the ice.

“What’s so funny, eh?” Bunnymund asks with a scowl, the claws of his feet burrowing into the frozen ground below. “Other than us asking a joke like you for help, that is.”

Jack stops laughing at the barb, giving him a once-over with his unnaturally bright, light-blue eyes. Unlike the rest of his youthful appearance and demeanor, his gaze belies his true age, as weighty and ancient as glaciers.

“Hmm, I think I like you,” he finally decides, straightening up. His expression has sobered considerably, though a trace of amusement still resides on his lips. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“We aren’t lying, Jack,” Toothiana says imploringly. “We really do need your help.”

“Why do you suddenly need _my_ help?” he asks. His tone is light, but there’s something scathing lingering under the surface when he adds, “It’s not like you’ve ever been interested in me or my assistance before.”

“Man in Moon himself has declared you new Guardian,” North announces, grandiose.

“Oh I see now,” Jack says. He rams the flat end of his staff into the ice. Logically, the flimsy wood should have broken, but instead it remains quite solid, embedded an inch or so into the ground. Jack leaps up to perch on the opposite end like some sort of giant bird, crouched down with his feet beneath his thighs. “So you aren’t actually interested in me. You were just told I needed to join your little club and are following your boss’ orders.”

“Jack…”

“It’s no big deal, Tooth Fairy,” Jack says dismissively, waving his hand as though literally throwing her concern away. “After your first five centuries this sort of stuff starts to roll off your back. I understand—orders are orders. Besides, what kind of adult would wanna hang out with a kid like me when given a choice, right?”

North, sensing Jack’s shift in tone, takes a hesitant step forward. “Jack, it is not easy, being Guardian. We are all busy. Our lack of presence in your life, it is not meant to be seen as an insult, or a judging of your character—”

“Well that just makes it all better,” Jack says, a definite note of hostility adding edge to his tone now. “It’s not like you meant to ignore me or any of the other spirits like me. You’re just too busy being the Moon’s special little lap dogs to make time in your busy schedule. It’s nice to know it’s not because I’m lacking in character, that it has nothing to do with any of us _lesser_ spirits at all.”

“No, that’s not what North meant —”

“I should have figured.” Jack interrupts, pressing forward ruthlessly. The temperature in the courtyard drops sharply. “Why would a couple of celebrities like you have the time to attempt to do lowly things like foster relations between everyone? That’s beneath you, right? You’re at the beck and call of the Man in the Moon himself, have to protect the children even if it means you’ve probably never been within five feet of a kid in decades and— _don’t touch me_.”

Tooth, her fingers just grazing Jack’s shoulder, is blasted away from the teen by a fierce gale and sent flying. Deftly, Sandy manages to pluck her out of the air with a gentle twist of sand.

The cold that seeps beneath their skin even outside the radius of the direct blast pervades them all the way to the bone.

Damage done, Jack’s expression shutters closed. Springing off his staff and wrenching it from the ground with a graceful flip of his body, he turns his back on them and walks away. Raising his hand in a flippant parody of a parting wave, he says, “You can tell the Moon thanks but no thanks. I’m not interested in his offer.”

“Okay, that clinches it,” Bunnymund hisses, reaching behind his back and drawing out one of his boomerangs. Tooth tries to protest around her violent shivering, but Bunny doesn’t care to listen. How dare this little brat act like such a selfish child?

The boomerang strikes Jack in the back, forcing him violently into the ground with a cry of surprise. Before he can get to his feet Bunnymund is on him, foot pressing him into the ice.

“Listen here, you little punk,” he growls, jabbing his toes sharply into his side when he tries to wriggle out from underneath him. “This isn’t about you or your hurt feelings. This is about _the children_. Did we drop the ball with you, or with others of our kind? Probably, even if we didn’t intend to.”

“See, I was right,” Jack says, muffled by the ice pressed against his face. “You’re so arrogant you can’t even bring yourself to apolo—”

 “Stop talking,” Bunnymund cuts in, rapping him in the side again for good measure. “The adults are speaking now. I can let you go and we can all have a proper conversation when you grow up and stop being such a selfish child. You may not look it but you’re over a thousand years old, so get your head outta your rear end and start acting like it. Because right now there are more important things than you, or I, or any of the Guardians at hand to take care of.”

When Jack stops his struggling Bunnymund eases the pressure on Jack’s back, still glaring at the back of his head. “I don’t like it, but for whatever reason we were told to find you, that you were one of us. And I swear to the Man in the Moon himself, if Pitch destroys the hopes and dreams of children because you can’t be the bigger man and put things behind you, I’ll find a way to personally make sure you’re as nonexistent as your little hidey-hole when the lights go out.”

Jack’s back is tense when Bunnymund removes his foot. “Did you…did you say Pitch?”

It figures, one mention of his psychotic buddy and he’s got his focus again. He opens his mouth to say something, but he catches North shaking his head from the corner of his eye. Right. No need to get him all riled up again.

“Yes,” North speaks up instead. Unlike Bunnymund, his voice is gentle and tinged with compassion. The bleeding heart. “He is planning something, and Man in Moon has asked us to stop him…with your help, Jack.”

“But why?”

“If the Man in the Moon appointed you the next Guardian, he sees something special in you,” Toothiana explains.

“That’s not what I meant.” Jack shakes his head and pulls himself to his knees, turning to face them. He clarifies, “I meant, why is Pitch doing this?”

Sandy conjures an image of Pitch looming over the Earth, engulfing it entirely, then shrugs, as if to ask, ‘did you expect anything different?’

At Jack’s confused expression Bunnymund adds, “He’s the _Boogeyman_. It’s in Pitch’s nature to torment children.”

“You have no idea what it’s in his _nature_ to do,” Jack snaps without much real bite. “You wrote him off as a one-note villain before you even got to know him and brushed him aside like everyone else—”

“Not this again,” Bunnymund groans. He swipes a calming paw over his face and takes a moment to breathe deeply. “Look, Pitch crossed the line. The world changed, and he refused to change with it. Kids can’t be terrified of every dark shadow they see. North tried to convince him to stop being so harsh—”

“Well, maybe he should have tried harder instead of just letting him walk away!”

“I tried the best that I could, Jack,” North says, calm in the face of his sharp glare. He shrugs his massive shoulders with a sigh. “Some minds are set in their ways, and there is nothing you can do to change them.”

“If...if you’d just _made_ him see what you meant—”

“How would I have managed that?” North asks, amused. “I cannot force somebody to see things any other way than the one they choose, and even if I could, I would not. It is not my place to force people into seeing things my way. Everyone should be free to make their own choices, for right of for wrong.”

“But…”

“Why are you defending him?” Bunnymund asks suspiciously.

“I’m not defending his actions,” Jack denies. The hand on his staff is tight, knuckles a white flash of bone as his hand clenches. “I’m just saying it isn’t all as _easy_ as you’re make it out to be and that maybe things could have been different if you’d just done something more. You should have kept trying instead of abandoning him—”

“Like he abandoned you?”

Bitterness passes fleetingly across Jack’s face and disappears, gone within one heart beat and the next. “Don’t talk about things you don’t understand,” he warns.

“He doesn’t deserve your loyalty,” Toothiana says.

“I _said_ don’t.”

“Okay,” she agrees quietly. “What’s in the past doesn’t matter anyway. However he was back then, or whatever we could have done to stop him from being what he is now, is irrelevant. We can’t do anything about it now. What we can do is stop him before he does something terrible to people who have done nothing to hurt him.”

Jack groans, pressing his forehead into a knob of wood jutting from his staff. “I’m _not_ Guardian material.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Man in Moon says differently,” North says over Bunnymund’s taunt. He ducks down to Jack’s level, looking him in the eyes. “What do you say? Will you help us?”

For a tense moment of silence Jack takes them all in with wide, white-lidded eyes, clutching his staff to himself like a security blanket. His eyes are alight with something like wonder, something like awe, and Bunnymund lets himself hope.

Then Jack is shaking his head and walking away.

“No way.” Ignoring their protests he adds, “Feel free to look around the place until the sun sets, but be sure to get your fill now. Once we settle back into reality I want you all gone.”


	3. Being Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first Pitch sees a boy on the verge of manhood, foot extended above a pool of water smooth enough to be a mirror.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments and kudos--they are extremely appreciated. We are now back with a short excerpt from the past! I plan to switch back and forth between chapters, so next time we’ll return to the Guardians in the present. Hopefully after next week I’ll be able to update more quickly, since it’s my finals week. 
> 
> This chapter takes place a few months after Pitch first met Jack. Its title is from the song of the same name from _Company_ , because I’ve been listening to Chris Colfer’s cover of it all week and while writing this.

Pitch will never get used to the way Jack steps onto water as if it were land, natural and thoughtless. Inwardly, he knows it is of no danger—Jack is winter embodied, and even without his staff he exudes cold instinctively. It is nature’s will that water petrify itself when confronted with winter’s powerful presence, and so water freezes beneath his feet. As far as Jack is aware, it always has and always will.

Pitch knows this, but he never sees it. Not at first.

At first Pitch sees a boy on the verge of manhood, foot extended above a pool of water smooth enough to be a mirror. With a touch of the boy’s toe the water solidifies, and he smiles down at the impish reflection smiling back. He drops and lands with sure feet, elated at his accomplishment. Pitch can hear him laugh at his triumph.

The laughter is still ringing in the air when the ice gives out beneath him and he slips under the water, gone forever.

“Hey…are you alright?”        

Pitch blinks and the vision is gone, banished to a dark corner of his mind that even he has no reign over.  In its place is Jack, feet firmly planted on a very solid sheet of ice that continuously expands beneath them, spreading slowly out across the water lapping at its edges. He waits only feet away, watching Pitch linger near the shore, expression hesitantly expectant.

Pitch clears his throat to ease its tension before responding. “I am perfectly well, thank you.  I was only distracted—you know what too much exposure to daylight can do to me.”

Jack frowns, concern weighing down his brows. “If you want we can wait to travel until dusk. I don’t mind.”

When it became apparent sunlight overwhelms him over long stretches of time the two had jointly decided it would be best for them to travel by the early, silvery light of dawn.  Jack had offered to let them travel by the dark of night, but Pitch did not want that for him if he could help it. It would not be fair to inconvenience Jack even more than traveling by foot instead of flight already does, or take away from him the simple pleasure of the sun on his face. Besides, it is an older brother’s place to make sacrifices.  

“That won’t be necessary,” Pitch assures him. When Jack’s frown only deepens, Pitch sighs theatrically and steps out onto the path Jack has begun to forge for them. He ignores the dread that squeezes his innards whenever water washes over the edge and onto his feet. “I was only distracted by the sunlight, not made invalid by it.”

To Pitch’s relief the corners of Jack’s lips twitch, a grin threatening to break free beneath the surface of his worry. “Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Pitch reiterates. With a huff and haughty jerk of his cloak he sweeps forward as though the thought of the two of them plunging beneath the surface of the water isn’t all he sees whenever he blinks and adds, “I promise a little sun won’t kill me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Taking a deep breath Pitch moves forward, pushing his way past Jack. The sooner off of the water the better.

“Woah, you’re eager.” Jack laughs from behind Pitch’s shoulder. His eyes are crinkled with amusement when he advises, “Maybe you should wait until I finish our path first though.”

“Perhaps if someone would stop questioning his elders and do his job I wouldn’t have to wait,” Pitch fires back without any real heat. In all honesty he’s grateful for the distraction banter provides. “Besides, I thought we needed to get to the next village before high-sun. Didn’t you tell me you had something in mind for tonight?”

“We’ll get there in time,” Jack assures him, waving his staff before him dismissively as he does. A frigid wind arcs forward in the movement’s wake, causing frost to curl over the water in a distinctive crawl Pitch has begun to recognize over the past several months. He represses shivers as a path is frozen into the river in a thick, solid layer, reaching out to grasp the opposite shoreline. Satisfied with his work, Jack looks at him and grins. “Now, about this ‘elder’ business. I’m pretty sure I remember meeting you when you were first born.”

“Perhaps you have more time spent in eternal life,” Pitch concedes, “but you cannot deny that physically I am your elder.” Pitch ruthlessly tamps down on thoughts of _‘Ten years, to be precise._ ’ because he shouldn’t know that, not Jack’s new friend Pitch. Instead, because he may not be ready to admit the truth but that doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy the pleasures allotted all elder brothers he adds, “Mentally and in maturation as well.”

Jack shakes his head and scoffs. “Please. Maturity is for people who aren’t smart enough to recognize a good time when they see it.”  He gestures forward with his free hand and bows flippantly. “Solid land. Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Pitch says with sincerity, both because he really is grateful and because of the way appreciation of his talents light up Jack’s eyes. He will never lose sight of the value of seeing Jack’s smile again.

“You’re welcome.” A pale hand runs through even paler hair, mussing it up and not-so-successfully covering a contented smile that threatens to stay forever. Craving attention and knowing what to do with it are two entirely separate problems. “A-anyway,” Jack begins with an air of haste, “we should get going. If I’m remembering things correctly the village shouldn’t be very far, but it doesn’t look like we have much time before the sun reaches its apex either.”

Pitch nods his assent and allows Jack to turn away quickly, eager to hide how affected he was by Pitch’s minimal praise. He follows him from a distance, the watchful sentry to Jack’s excitable ward.  A carefree lifestyle can have a high price, Pitch knows, and he will be damned before Jack has to pay it.

OoO

As it turns out the two of them make it to the village with minimal fuss and only one instance in which they became lost (at which point Jack flew ahead to orientate himself). They make it with enough spare time to scout out a place to rest, a thicket of trees just outside the edge of town, currently bare of leaves but with the sort of thick, strong branches Jack prefers to sleep on. Pitch restrains himself from demanding Jack stay on the ground where he won’t injure himself –he is a _friend_ to Jack right now, not a brother or a keeper— and contents himself by resting against the tree’s trunk several meters beneath him instead.

Since becoming what he now is (whatever it is that he has become) Pitch has found that he does not have to sleep, that no matter how late or how long he has traveled, he never feels tired. Weary, yes, but the lid-heavy spell of unconsciousness has never once befallen him.

This is not the case for Jack, who dozes with as much enthusiasm as he spends when riding the capricious currents of wind that serve him. Privately, Pitch wonders if it is because of nature’s influence or the influence of Jack’s previous life. Winter, like all seasons, is a fitful, fluctuating thing prone to sudden bouts of either exuberance or restfulness. But Jack had been much the same while he was…alive, and his need to sleep could simply be a mirror of that, Jack’s infamous stubbornness retaining bits and scraps of who he used to be.

Pitch does not know and doubts he ever will, but he does know which explanation he prefers.

Either way or for some other reason entirely Jack requires sleep, and so he settles down on one of the highest branches he can find sturdy enough to support his weight. Pitch uses this time to practice using his new abilities, bending the shadows on the ground into varying states and shapes so he doesn’t have to watch the way Jack’s leg dangles and sways above him precariously.

Manipulation, Pitch has found, is not the only thing he can do with darkness. If it pools around him he can feel it upon his skin, not quite as though he is a part of it, but something close. Something like a well-worn cloak or jacket that has been weathered through years of hanging off his shoulders. Much like a cloak he can wrap them around himself. Unlike a cloak, donning them makes him disappear, and absolutely nobody can see him when he does.

There are paths in the darkness, intricate and ancient, established and preserved.

Pitch knows, somehow, that these paths were carved for him to use. Part of him yearns to do so, to step into the shadows and find what lies in wait. People who fear monsters in the darkness only limit themselves from discovering the truth that it really hides, after all, and Pitch has never been afraid of the dark. But every time he goes to make that first tentative step the memory of Jack shouting his name echoes in the empty void around him, and he steps back into the light. The shadows diligently guard those that lurk inside them, even from those closest to the ones they hide. If he were to leave and become lost, Jack may never find him. How could he when Jack hadn’t even been able to see him standing less than a foot away?

No. Better to stay here in the realm of light, where he knows Jack, at least, can see him.


End file.
